Cold Earth
by Winterbranch
Summary: DHr A misguided portkey guarantees that Draco and Hermione are hidden indefinitely while the hunt for the horcruxes begins. Hiding does not always guarantee safety.
1. Prologue

Author's Note:

So begins my first fanfiction in an awfully long time, and my first DHr in about... 2 years. Hope my writing has improved since then, and hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: JKR owns the characters in this story, which is written for pleasure, not profit.

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Prologue

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June, 1997

The beginning was one word, one spell. The weaver sat at the loom and picked up a thread. Matter exploded into existence. Darkness and light separated. And for the first time, there was a duality in the eternal unity.

Threads crossed into other threads as the tapestry took form. The nebula formed a star. The star formed helium. Then heavier, complex atoms. Carbon, Oxygen, Hydrogen, and Nitrogen danced around each other like the four Hogwarts houses until they fell into pattern upon the land. Enchanted by the spell, the soil grew and the earth was fertile.

Hermione understood that no amount of magic could change the fundamental laws of physics; matter was available in a finite amount. Every time she transfigured or conjured an item, the raw material was pulled from a distant planet or star.

But as she watched her friends disappear behind the brick wall at Platform Nine and Three Quarters, she wondered if love was also finite. Or maybe it was like electricity, and could be infinitely generated by the friction of two different souls.

What could power the turbine? Who would be the generator of such love?

Perhaps if she solved this mystery, there would be no need to sacrifice more lives to find empty horcruxes. Maybe she would be able to spend one more languid summer at the Burrow without the secrecy of the Order. Maybe Harry would be able to finish his final year at Hogwarts in peace, with Ron, Ginny, and herself by his side. Maybe Dumbledore had known the answer.

She doubted it. A tear escaped her eye.


	2. Chapter 1

Author's Note:

This chapter is more of an intro, hope you enjoy nonetheless.

Disclaimer: JKR owns all characters in this story. This story is not for profit.

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Chapter 1

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Late summer heat brought western winds and distant clouds to the Burrow. Water drummed on the roof and seeped through the warped wood paneling and into dreams. The rain was thick and red, and ran in rivulets on the fringes of Hermione's mind.  
She woke in a feverish tangle of sweat, limbs, and sheets.

Each morning, breakfast conversation was forced. Hermione sipped her tea and watched as Ginny poked at her egg morosely.

"Nice bit of rain we had last night. It was too dry lately, in my opinion." Arthur Weasley's voice echoed hollowly in the kitchen.

Hermione stifled a yawn and attempted to keep her eyelids from falling shut for the umpteenth time. Ginny stabbed her egg at the center.

After breakfast, it was customary for Mister Weasley to leave for work, and the girls to leave for their morning walk. Molly would resume her knitting and stoke the fire. Ron would be awake by the time Hermione and Ginny returned. Lunch would be prepared and served in silence.

"I do hope Remus is doing well. The full moon is next week," Molly observed as she reached for the plate of toast.

No one commented, although Arthur gave a brief cough. Then, the clink of worn china cups against their saucers. The air was heavy with the summer heat and tension. Worry, fear, and uncertainty had cast the Burrow into a shadow that could not be penetrated by the throbbing summer sun.

Ever since the evacuation of Grimmauld Place as the main headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix, many of its younger members had felt a foreboding and insecurity that they just couldn't shake. Despite its terrible atmosphere, the former Black household had become a home. Now the majority of the Order was embedded at an undisclosed location.

Hermione had opted to stay at the Burrow for the entire summer, in order to protect her parents from becoming possible targets of the Dark Lord, and to solidify her memories of the place before the final strike. While there were only five full-time inhabitants of the Burrow, friends stopped by in great numbers, and often. Nonetheless, after Bill and Fleur's wedding, a veritable curtain of loneliness and seclusion had descended upon the household.  
There were topics only discussed at breakfast, those only discussed at lunch, and topics that were seldom or never discussed.  
Among the topics in the last category were the false horcrux, Severus Snape, and Ginny Weasley's relationship with Harry Potter. It was common sense that to preserve the peace, albeit artificial and temporary peace, such topics should be avoided at all costs. So it was perceived as an ill-fated and most unwelcome omen when a letter from Harry fell from Hedwig's talons onto Ginny's morning egg.

After all, those winds that brought the blood-rain were the winds of change.

.oOo.

Everyone present at the table stared at the soggy parchment envelope in Ginny's hand.

"Well, go on and open it, dear," Mrs. Weasley urged with just a bit too much excitement. Ginny's fingers fumbled with the wax seal. Finally the paper fell open to reveal Harry's familiar chicken-scratch handwriting. Ginny's eyes scanned the letter and she slightly blushed.

"Harry thanks you for the dinner last week, and informs us that there is to be a meeting at Godric's Hollow the day after tomorrow. Everyone is required to attend."

Hermione leaned slightly towards Ginny and lifted an eyebrow, quite sure from the length of the letter that Ginny had omitted a bit of the content.

Molly Weasley turned to look at the family clock. Bill and Fleur's hands were comfortably rested on Home, although they were hundreds of miles away. Arthur's was slowly turning a vibrant shade of red, which meant...

"Good Heavens, Arthur, you're going to be late!"

Mr. Weasley tossed aside the newspaper and scrambled from his seat, kissing his wife on the cheek and summoning his hat and briefcase. Uttering a string of profanity under his breath, he raced out the back door and apparated with a satisfying 'crack'  
Ginny lent Hermione a small, vacant smile and pulled on her arm, a gesture that meant it was time for the morning walk.

.oOo.

The earth was dark and wet beneath Hermione's feet as she walked with Ginny, the younger girl's hands wrapped around her right arm. Raindrops hung suspended from branches and spider webs, glistening like mirrors. The treetops in the distance appeared to be smoking as the moisture evaporated in plumes. That was what this whole mess was, she mused, a hall of smoke and mirrors. It wasn't surprising, considering Harry's nemesis was a man named Riddle. This whole tangled web, threads knotted and crossed,  
the pattern of the universe, it was all a cryptic puzzle to solve before time ran out. She was suddenly very afraid for the future.

Ginny was fidgeting like she usually did when she wanted desperately to tell Hermione something, but wasn't quite sure how to go about it. There was no doubt Harry Potter was part of the equation here. Hermione decided to take pity on her.

"So is Harry doing well?" Hermione stared ahead of her at the familiar path.

"Yes..." The blush returned. "He told me there was nothing he wanted more for his birthday than me. Honestly, Hermione, how can we do this 'just friends' thing if he keeps making comments like that?" Hermione frowned. Harry's birthday was two weeks ago, and Ginny had been so upset over what to give him as a present. The girl was really trying her best to be responsible and mature in the situation. Hermione believed she handled it quite well, despite her insecurities.

The pair was silent as they continued down the path to the moor.

"Do you think we will ever figure this thing out, Hermione?"

"I don't know, Ginny."

The moor spread wide and open before them, and Hermione noticed the looming clouds from last night fleeing over the Eastern horizon. The wind was becoming stronger. The grass rippled down the hillside like white capped waves upon the ocean. It smelled sweet and warm, although the wind was chilling. Hermione pulled her jacket tighter around herself and leaned into Ginny. "Let's collect some herbs and hurry back. I don't like this wind."

.oOo.

It was funny, Hermione thought, as she spotted the Burrow from beyond the cover of the trees. Three months, she made a vow along with Ron to be with Harry at the Dursley's, at Godric's Hollow.

_We'll be there, Harry..._

_...and then we'll go with you wherever you're going._

_You said to us once before, that there was time to turn back if we wanted to. We've had time, haven't we?_

_We're with you whatever happens..._

Somehow there must have been some miscommunication, because Harry was certainly not at the Burrow. How was it that she was stuck here at the Weasley house when she was supposed to be supporting her best friend? How was it that she and Ron, who made up two-thirds of the triangle, were currently out of comission? She knew Ron resented it, and truth be told, she agreed. Although what hurt the most was that Harry probably had a hand in it.

She knew he was confused and afraid. It was evident in the mixed messages he kept sending Ginny. He was afraid for their safety. Hermione knew that there were Harry things that couldn't be helped, but it was obvious that he needed the support of his friends, and they needed to support him. It left a bitter feeling in her gut.

There were so many things she could be helping with; tracking down the horcruxes, solving the mystery of R.A.B., searching for Severus Snape, or even just patching up the wounded. Sitting around and watching Molly Weasley knit hardly seemed productive. Unless, perhaps, the amiable mother was recording the names of Death Eaters into her knitting. How like a Dickens novel. Hermione laughed out loud, earning a quizzical expression from Ginny. It was certainly funny.

.oOo.

Ron was awake by the time the girls returned from the moor. Hermione and Ginny were shivering despite the warm sun, carrying bunches of heather and thyme in their fists. For one brief moment, as Hermione opened the crooked wooden screen door and saw Ron reading his favorite Chudley Cannons factbook, it felt almost normal. Then she realized his eyes weren't moving.

"Back so soon, dears?" Mrs. Weasley looked up from the stovetop, smiling. It was like this every day, even if the girls had been outside for hours past lunchtime. It was forced normalcy. Hermione wanted to vomit.

"Yes, we've collected some herbs for you, mum. I hope you can use them." Ginny placed her bundle on the hearth. Hermione carried her bunch over to the kitchen table and sat down beside Ron. He set down the book and smiled at her. It felt wrong.

"Good weather today, eh, 'Mione?"

"Yeah, although the wind is a bit too strong. I don't like it." Hermione shivered and stared into the hearth. A cloud passed in front of the sun, and the house was engulfed in darkness.

"Heard we have a meeting in two days."

Hermione turned and stared at Ron. His eyes held that look, and he was telling her everything through them. His frustration, his disappointment, his guilt. She knew she was doing the same thing. "Yeah, we do. We got a letter from Harry this morning." "What do you think it's about?"

"No idea, Ron."

Ginny sat at the table with her chin in her hands. Hermione stared into the writhing flames of the fire. Ron stared out the window. Molly Weasley ladled stew into bowls and set them before her children. It was as it should be.

.oOo.

Sometime later in the time between afternoon and nightfall, Ginny and Hermione had decided to team up and challenge Ron to a game of Wizard's Chess. They were losing terribly. While Ron didn't appear, from all outward appearances, to be a good strategist, his knowledge of the game was extensive and deadly. Hermione was torn after each piece she lost. Even Ginny's natural talent for the game was being shut down by Ron's stinging offense.

Arthur Weasley was just hanging up his coat and walking over to watch the game, after returning from a grueling day at the ministry.

The flames in the fire lept and crackled, and suddenly Kingsley Shacklebolt was speaking through the fire. His eyes were large and he looked crazed. "Arthur, there's been a situation at Godric's Hollow. We need you and Molly over here now."

Ron stood, accidentally knocking over the chess board in the process. "We're not staying here again! Dad, if anything happened to Harry-"

Shacklebolt interrupted. "This is urgent business. Bring as many as you can." And as soon as he had appeared, the auror was gone.

Mr. Weasley was already grabbing his coat and the emergency suitcase by the door. "Come along, then, I suppose we have no choice in the matter."

Molly set down her mixing spoon and picked up her wand. No one was panicking, but there was a frantic buzz as everyone quickly gathered what belongings they could carry. Hermione was ecstatic and terrified. The few minutes that passed were a blur, and then she found herself casting green dust into the flames. A voice that was not quite her own and certainly much too enthusiastic cried, "Godric's Hollow!"

Hermione tumbled out of the fireplace clutching her suitcase and wand. She could see through the doorway that a group of dark robes was congregated at the front entrance. Dread clutched her chest like ice. It wasn't Harry that was lying on the floor in the center of that circle. It couldn't possibly be. But the person lying there sprawled across the flagstone was about his size. "Harry!" She pushed her way through the crowd frantically until she came face to face with spectacled green eyes. Relief washed over her as she clutched her friend's arm.

"Hermione..." Harry nodded in the direction of the boy on the floor, and she choked. It was Draco Malfoy. Or at least, she thought it was. The only feature that really stood out was his matted blonde hair. Half his face was covered in one plum bruise. Dirt and ash and blood was smeared across him to the extent that she could see very little of his actual skin.

"What happened, Harry?"

Ron and Ginny were already among the crowd and Mr. Weasley had just exited the fireplace. The aurors surrounding the fallen body were emitting a drone of conversation, much like a hive of bees. Two mediwitches shoved through the crowd and carried Draco down the hall.

"He's okay, he was conscious when I saw him coming up the walk. A bloodied mess, but then he fainted when he got to the door.  
He'll be fine."

Ron was behind Hermione now, with his hand rubbing small circles on her shoulder. It was the best moment she had had all summer, holding onto Harry with Ron holding onto her. She knew without looking that Harry and Ron were having a stare-off. It was comforting and thrilling and frightening all at once. "We're not leaving you again, mate." And when Harry smiled, she knew it would be alright.


	3. Chapter 2

Author's Note:

Finally some interaction, and the master plan is unveiled.

Disclaimer: JKR owns all characters in this story. This story is not for profit.

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Chapter 2

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Hermione hated Draco Malfoy. And there was perfect excuse, after all the atrocities he had committed over the years at Hogwarts, especially in the events that took place just months before. If there was one student who had managed to make her school experience a hellhole, it was certainly Malfoy. It was a hatred that stemmed not just from his greediness and arrogance, or from jealousy, or from the fact that he embodied all negative aspects of the Slytherin house, which happened to be everything about it. It was the hatred she felt because she knew he was never going to change.

And yet, she loathed him more than she had ever felt loathing before at this moment. She hated the way that she had been concerned for him when he was there bleeding and broken on the flagstone entryway. She hated the way he looked almost human as he lay there on Harry's spare bed. She hated the way she wanted to view him as an actual person, forgive him, and move on. She knew better. She hated how weak he looked, and how weak it made her feel.

So here she was, sitting in a wooden chair in the corner of the spare bedroom, assigned to watch Draco Malfoy sleep for two grueling hours. His wounds were cleaned and healed, although his face looked pallid and sickly. A part of her realized that it didn't look that much different than normal.

It had been a long and stressful night since everyone in the Order was on high alert. Godric's Hollow had been doubly, then triply warded. No one was allowed in or out. The discovery of a Death Eater mask in Malfoy's robes only sent everyone into more panic. Fortunately, his wand was taken, and there really wasn't much he could do in his weak condition. Still, the threat of more Death Eaters or even the Dark Lord himself was enough to keep everyone awake and wary. Hours melted into ages as the clock ticked on and on. Ironically, the only one who really slept was Malfoy.

And that made Hermione hate him even more in the blinding morning sun.

.oOo.

The first thing Draco Malfoy noticed when he woke up was that his head really, really hurt. The mattress he was laying on was lumpy. The sun was coming in too strong from behind the cotton curtains, and his gruesome Death Eater mask was sitting on the nightstand next to a daisy in a bud vase. Then he noticed something scarier than his mask: Hermione Granger was sitting in the far corner of the room, and she looked displeased. It would have been a good idea to fall back asleep. He later blamed his killer headache for his impaired judgement.

"Why are you here?"

Hermione glared. "It was my shift to watch you."

Malfoy gestured to the nightstand. "Did you put that there?"

"It was found in your pocket."

"No, I meant the flower." Malfoy snapped.

Hermione stared at him in a slight expression of disbelief and repulsion. "No."

A moment passed in silence.

"So... what happened?"

Hermione laughed harshly. "What happened? You tell me, Malfoy. You're the one who had a concussion when he showed up on Harry Potter's doorstep."

Pain shot directly to his skull when he attempted to sit up in the bed. His blood was suddenly flowing hot and steady and reddened his cheeks in anger. "That is none of your concern, Granger."

Hermione stood. "Oh, I bloody well think it is my concern! You dare to show your face here when months ago, you facilitated a Death Eater invasion of my school and the murder of my headmaster." Her knuckles were white and her fists were clenched tightly at her sides. "I think that concerns me, don't you agree?" She seethed at the way Malfoy winced at each word, clutching his head in his hand.

"Shut the fuck up, mudblood! Gods!"

Now those steely eyes were glaring back at her, and it made her furious. "Oh, here we go, ferret! Just start using your father's favorite words with me! I'm sure he'd be terribly proud."

"Granger, don't pretend you understand anything about me or my father. Now shut the fuck up!"

"Don't pretend you know anything about me, Malfoy! What are we supposed to expect when you waltz into your sworn enemy's house with full Death Eater attire stashed under your robes? You're going to be interrogated either by me or by aurors under Veritaserum. It might be easier to come out with it now."

"What the hell do you want from me, then?" Draco fell back on his pillow and turned away from the blinding sun.

"An explanation."

"I don't feel the need to explain myself to someone as low as you."

"And I certainly don't feel the need to spend another hour in this bedroom with someone as low as you, but at least I know my place and my duty!"

"Don't you dare fucking lecture me on duty, you scum." Draco spat into the pillow. His head really, really hurt. Damn.

Hermione placed a hand on her hip. "Oh, and I suppose you'd know all about that, wouldn't you! Duty to your vile snake of a father, or duty to Voldemort?"

And suddenly his head didn't hurt nearly as much as he wanted to hurt Hermione Granger. Draco stood from the bed and crossed the room in two strides, shoving her roughly against the door. Hermione was struggling under him, but his heaviness held her in place. His breath was hot and sour against her ear. "You are in no position to make assumptions about my family life or my loyalties. You may be a know-it-all, Granger, but you are a fucking fool."

Hermione's hand inched toward the doorknob. "I'm not the one with the fucking mask in his pocket, now am I?" She retorted.

Draco sneered against her. "You think you're going to fucking save the world, don't you, Granger. You think you're going to be there battling the Dark Lord by Harry's side, and receive all the glory once you defeat him in a shining blaze of light. But there will still be people out there who will see you for the filth you really are, you bitch."

Hermione's hand grasped the doorknob and turned, hard. The door opened outward and Hermione moved with it to retain her balance, while Malfoy toppled headfirst into the hallway. Tonks appeared at the end of the hall, wand-in-hand, and Hermione realized she could have been a bit quieter.

"Everything okay, Hermione?"

She looked down at Draco, who was groaning and clutching his head, then up at Tonks, and shrugged. "Malfoy's awake."

.oOo.

The house was silent that evening when Draco, Alastor Moody, and Arthur Weasley entered the kitchen and locked the door. Any effort at listening into the conversation, through traditional methods or Extendable Ears, was warded off. It didn't make Hermione any less curious about what was going on. Even the seventh-year textbook she was examining didn't catch her interest. She sighed and settled back further into the overstuffed chair she had curled herself up in. It was times like this when she missed Crookshanks terribly, but she wasn't regretful of her decision to place the cat under her parents' care.

She smiled nervously when Remus Lupin sat in the armchair next to her. "Professor- er- Remus," she began, "do you have enough Wolfsbane Potion for this month?"

The man was looking haggard, but smiled back. "COntrary to popular belief, Hermione, I have survived without the help of Severus Snape for many years. I'll be fine."

Hermione exhaled in relief and hugged her closed book to her chest. "If you don't mind me asking, what was your seventh year at Hogwarts like?"

Lupin placed his chin in his hand and closed his eyes in thought. "Well, it seemed exciting at the time. Now I can see it was relatively uneventful. James was head boy, for some inane reason that we never came to understand. We messed around a lot. Lily hated it. Of course, there was a sinister overtone that ran through it all, since you-know-who was just coming to power. We did a lot of stupid things that year."

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, trying to visualize the infinite corridors of the castle or the musty books on the shelves. "What did you enjoy most?"

"Unfortunately, what I enjoyed at seventeen was terribly immature and inappropriate. We teased Snape relentlessly. It was cruel. What we should have realized was how dangerous he truly had become. But we hated him, and so whenever we could embarrass him, that was the greatest form of entertainment." Lupin frowned. "Of course there were other things, such as sitting by the lake in the summer time, or playing quidditch."

Hermione shivered. "I hope we haven't become guilty of that."

"No, Draco Malfoy is not nearly the same person as Severus Snape. And I'm sure that no matter how much you dislike him, you and Harry and Ron can treat him civilly. You're not like how we were at that age."

Hermione stared down at the cover of her book in shame. "I hope you're right."

.oOo.

It was well into the night when Arthur Weasley emerged from the kitchen. About half the group had already gone to bed, but Harry and Ron were playing backgammon. Hermione and Ginny sat at opposite ends of the sofa, watching the boys. All hard feelings had dissippated, and it was beginning to feel like business as usual. The remaining aurors in the room filed through the kitchen door and it was closed again.

"Harry, do you think we should go in too?" Hermione asked, looking back over her shoulder at the now empty living room.

"No, 'Mione." Harry shook the dice in his fist and tossed them against the board.

"How come? Everyone else is going in."

"I can't go in."

Hermione frowned slightly, stretching her legs. "Well this is certainly unfair. We should be treated as adults in the Order."

"It's not about age. I can't go in because Voldemort might use me to get information. I can't block him out, Hermione."

Hermione opened her mouth to answer, then shut it again. The door was opening and Draco Malfoy appeared, looking terribly run down. And were his eyes that red because he was tired? It almost looked like he had been crying. He crossed the living room and disappeared up the stairs in silence. The atmosphere cleared and Hermione was free to speak again. "I wonder what happened."

"We'll know tomorrow, I think." It was Ginny who spoke from her end of the sofa. She was hugging a pillow close to her chest and watching Ron think over his next move. "Use the four with that one on the end." Ron looked up at her and glared as if to say I knew that, then smiled and did as he was instructed.

"I think I got you, mate." Ron leaned back into his chair with a satisfied grin.

The game concluded and Hermione's eyes grew heavy quite suddenly. The room was warm from the fire, and from beyond the door she could hear the faint murmuring of voices. And although she knew that nothing was quite right with the situation, it felt relatively normal. That was enough. She nodded off in a matter of minutes.

.oOo.

Hermione wasn't aware who had carried her upstairs in the night and tucked her in, but she was thankful it happened. She saw Ginny still asleep in the bed next to her, and voices were echoing from downstairs.

_"Well I guess we have no choice then, we'll tell her today."_

She exited the bedroom.

_"She won't like it, Arthur."_

_"Molly, we would be endangering her by permitting her to stay with us. This is the safest solution for everyone."_

Halfway down the stairs, she realized that it was still quite early in the morning and no one was in the living room.

_"What about her friends? You know how important it is that they stay together."_

_"There's nothing we can do about that now."_

Hermione entered the kitchen to see the two Weasley adults sitting at the table, sipping tea.

"Good morning dear, what are you doing up so early?" Mrs. Weasley smiled warmly.

"Couldn't sleep, I guess. Sorry if I'm interrupting." Hermione rubbed her eyes.

Molly pulled out the chair next to her and patted it. "Of course not, sweetheart. Actually, Arthur and I need to speak with you about something important."

Hermione sighed and sat at the table. A teacup and saucer was summoned in front of her, and Molly handed her the teapot. It was still warm.

Mr. Weasley stared into his cup for a moment, then looked at her. "Hermione, you are aware that we spoke with Draco Malfoy last night, I'm sure."

Hermione nodded and her stomach dropped. She was going to be lectured on being nice to Malfoy.

"I can't give you all the details, I'm sure you understand,"

Hermione nodded again,

"but it is evident that he came for protection. In exchange, he gave us information."

Hermione swirled the tea in her cup before taking a long drink.

"We suspected for a long time that after Dumbledore's death, the Dark Lord would turn on the members of the Order as his next targets. His primary objective is to capture Harry, but by slowly eliminating those close to Harry, it becomes easier, you see..."

Hermione set her tea down and folded her hands in her lap. "He still underestimates Harry's ability. He's going for the largest threats first. Dumbledore was the one he feared most."

"Yes and no." Mr. Weasley answered. "He hopes that by taking down those who are closest to Harry, he can anger Harry enough to lure him out. Dumbledore was also one of Harry's greatest role models."

"So who is the next target? Ginny?" Hermione stared at her hands.

"Fortunately, you-know-who hasn't found out about Harry's relationship with Ginny yet, and we intend to keep it that way."

"So it's me, then."

Mr. Weasley nodded. "We can't guarantee your safety inside Godric's Hollow or the Burrow, or wherever the Order meets next. I hope you understand that."

Hermione frowned and looked up. "Of course I understand that. I understood that from the very beginning. But I believe it's most important that I support the Order and work for the Order. If I back down, that's just letting Voldemort win."

Mrs. Weasley spoke for the first time, "Hermione, we're not asking you to back down. We need you to understand that you are a member of the Order and are supporting us no matter what. The stakes are just too high."

"So what are you proposing, then?"

"You are a legal adult in the wizarding world, Hermione, and therefore can choose not to go through with this."

"What?"

Arthur cleared his throat. "We think you should go into hiding for a short while, until we can put enough pressure on the Dark Lord in other areas, such as the horcruxes."

Hermione's fists clenched. "I made a promise to Harry and Ron that I wouldn't leave. And how could I possibly benefit the Order by being locked away?"

Molly Weasley placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Dear, you don't have to be dueling dark wizards to fight evil. Anyway, you wouldn't be alone."

"Draco Malfoy is also a target of the Dark Lord since his failure at Hogwarts last spring. We feel the best way to protect him is to send him into hiding, but it is never a good idea to send one into hiding alone."

"So I would be in hiding with Malfoy for an undetermined amount of time?" Hermione blanched. "Voldemort wouldn't forget about me, not for a minute. What would the point be?"

"Please understand how difficult this is for us to suggest." Mrs. Weasley implored. "We know you two dislike each other-"

"More like detest..." Hermione mumbled.

"-but we wouldn't be suggesting this if we didn't feel it was the best possible solution."

"Think of it this way." Mr. Weasley placed his hands on the table, "In chess, it is a good strategy to keep the opponent's king in check. It rattles the opponent mentally, as well as gives you direction for your next moves. But don't ever neglect the piece that sits in the back corner. When the time is right, it will deliver the final strike."

"So how do you plan on keeping Voldemort in check?"

"The king is your opponent's livelihood. Putting the king in check means directly threatening the opponent's existence. So in this case, the horcruxes are the Dark Lord's king. By seeking out and destroying the horcruxes, we are bringing you-know-who closer and closer into checkmate. It's weakening and putting pressure on him so he has less time and resources to target you and Malfoy." Mr. Weasley explained.

Hermione realized for the first time that perhaps Ron got his chess skill from somewhere else. "And Malfoy and I are the pieces in the back corner?" She asked.

"Correct." Mr. Weasley answered.

"Okay then," the sound of voices could be heard outside the kitchen and the sun was shining merrily in through the window, "I'll do it."


	4. Chapter 3

Author's Note:

Sorry about the long wait to update; I have no excuse. Sorry!

Disclaimer: JKR owns all characters in this story. This story is not for profit.

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Chapter 3

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Gavagan's Guide to Gastronomy stated in chapter five, entitled "Preserving and Pickling," that one could make jam out of virtually anything as long as one added enough sugar. Hermione Granger wasn't sure how much sugar was needed to make Draco Malfoy appealing, but she wanted nothing less than to mash him up and spread him across the morning toast.

It was a week since her conversation with the Weasley parents, and nothing particularly monumental had taken place. She hadn't told Harry or Ron about her decision, although everyone was quite familiar with the fact that Malfoy was not coming to infiltrate the Order under command from the Dark Lord. Unfortunately, this meant that he was testing the waters of the living situation at Godric's Hollow. It was regrettable that he couldn't test the waters without being such a bloody prick.

Ginny was staring at a bit of leftover sausage on her plate, trying not to return Harry's gaze, which had been aimed in her direction for the better part of half an hour. Ron was watching the pair's expressions with mild interest. Hermione rolled her eyes and took another bite of toast. Malfoy preferred to take his breakfast in bed, which was both annoying as well as a blessing for everyone in the house.

It was funny how everything had so quickly fallen into a different, but equally predictable routine as her earlier summer. About half an hour after everyone finished breakfast, Malfoy would make his grand entrance down the staircase and over to the fire. He would haggle Harry, Ron, or Hermione for about another half-hour, then sit down in an armchair and pore over the Daily Prophet.

When he wasn't complaining about Ginny and Ron playing exploding snap or the living arrangements in Harry's house, giving Hermione "beauty tips" or sulking in a corner, Hermione noticed he did quite a bit of reading. In fact, he was already a few chapters ahead of her in her Advanced Charms textbook. She wondered if he did this just to provoke her. The worst part was that it worked.

The creak of the top stair, which Malfoy might have fancied to be a fanfare, acted as a warning for all those sitting in the living room. "Oh no," Ginny groaned, "here he comes."

Hermione rolled her eyes and turned her back towards the staircase. Even so, she could hear the dull thud of black dragonhide shoes on the worn floorboards approaching her. A platinum ring clacked on the back of her chair as Malfoy drummed his fingers on it and the headache-inducing scent of cologne reached her nose. "Well, Granger, I must admit your hair is looking particularly discordian today. Sure you aren't descended from Eris?"

Ginny scowled at Malfoy and Ron clenched his fist. Hermione turned around in her chair. "Can it, Hades." she retorted.

"Oh, touchy. Just so you know, we're to meet about our future living arrangements today." He gave Hermione a particularly wicked smirk and went to grab the Daily Prophet from the kitchen.

"What was that about, 'Mione?" Ron asked.

"Not sure, Ron." Hermione almost lied. "Want me to take your dishes? I'm finished." Hermione took the empty plates and carried them back to the kitchen, where Malfoy sat reading with Shacklebolt and Lupin.

Remus looked up from his copy of the Prophet. "Hermione, we're having a meeting today and we need you to attend."

"I know, Malfoy already told me. Have you decided on a date then?"

He nodded. "Yes, we'll discuss everything tonight."

Hermione glanced at Draco, who appeared to be engrossed in his newspaper. Did he even care about what was about to happen? He hadn't mentioned it before. Hermione wasn't even sure up until that point that he knew. She left the room and went to continue reading Advanced Charms.

.oOo.

A few slate-gray clouds trudged across the sky like pack mules until they fairly covered the sun. The living room of Godric's Hollow was momentarily submerged in shadow. Hermione reached behind her to fix the loose bun of hair that was slowly dropping wisps of curls to frame her face.

Truth be told, she wasn't paying attention to her reading at all. The more she dwelled on it, the more uncomfortable she felt with the whole state of affairs.

From her position in an armchair near one of the lead glass windows, she could see Malfoy pacing around in the back yard with his hands in his pockets. His hair fell in front of his eyes, and she noticed that it looked dull in the shadow. It looked like Snape. A sort of pale sickness stirred her lungs and for a moment she forgot how to inhale. It was frightening and quiet.

How was it that she found herself in this situation? She pulled the book's ribbon taut into the crease of the page she had previously been examining and closed it. Hermione was not a fatalistic person. In her opinion, that kind of melodrama was better left to women such as Sibyll Trelawney. Hermione believed in magic, and the magic of will. Often at times like this, however, she imagined she was attached to marionette strings and some higher deity was having quite a good laugh at her.

No one would be laughing when she knew she had to break the news to Harry and Ron. If she left it up to someone else, they would only take it worse. Hermione loved her friends dearly. There was no equivalent in all the world, wizarding or otherwise. And now she was about to descend into the darkest dungeon without them.

Hermione wondered about the shelter she and Malfoy would be occupying. When were they leaving? Would magic be allowed? Would there be running water? How would they eat? Hermione had no doubt that she could adapt to wherever they were sent, but she wasn't so sure about her housemate. And she wasn't so sure that she was safer with him.

"Sickle for your thoughts?"

Hermione looked up at the slightly grinning face of Harry Potter and felt something inside her break. Perhaps it was her heart. She set her Charms text onto the end table beside her and shifted in the armchair, sighing heavily. "No, Harry, I'm just a bit tired. Woke up too early this morning." It was a half-lie; she had woken up and laid in bed for a long while, eventually falling back asleep.

"Well take care of yourself, I have a feeling we'll be in for a lot more before we're finished."

Hermione frowned. Was he talking about Malfoy, or something entirely larger? She decided it was both. "I know that." Harry smiled.

"Harry," she said after a brief pause, "you do know that Ron and I will support you no matter where we are, even if we're not by your side?"

"Hermione, how long have we known each other?" She smiled.

It was enough.

.oOo.

Hermione knew it was time when the plaster walls of the house took on the dusty violet hue of evening and aurors began to file into Harry's den. Small chairs had been summoned in rows, sort of like a classroom. Hermione took a seat bordering on the center aisle, near the front. Absently she noticed that Tonks sat down directly behind her. Lupin quickly took the seat beside the metamorphmagus.

Then came auror after auror, primarily male and all sporting a minimum of three scars. A somber Arthur Weasley took his place in the front row. Hermione felt a soft hand on her shoulder and turned to see Tonks giving her a supporting grin. "You'll be fine, Hermione."

She idly looked down and realized that her knuckles were white from clutching the seat of her chair. All of a sudden it hit her, like a particularly cold winter wind, that the males in the room greatly outweighed the females. It must be hard, she realized, to be a female auror in a unit of men. She remembered certain times in the distant past when Harry and Ron had questioned both her physical, mental, and moral strength. She admired Tonks, and smiled softly back.

Hermione realized she had not yet seen Malfoy and turned a little more in her seat. She immediately spotted his blonde hair shining in the candlelight, in the farthest corner of the back row. His arms were crossed and his eyes closed as if he had fallen asleep, though she could tell his face was tense and his jaw was clenched shut. He appeared to feel her gaze on him and looked up, staring unabashedly at her and through her. Hermione reddened and quickly turned back to the front of the room. She could swear the git was smirking at the back of her head.

Her train of thought was presently interrupted when Arthur Weasley stood and faced the congregation of Order members. He cleared his throat as the dull hum of voices and coughs faded. "This meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, August twenty-eight, nineteen ninety-seven, will now come to order..."

Hermione could feel eyes on her again, and it was unnerving. She slumped a little in her chair, hoping to hide behind the other bodies. It was warm in here with so many people, and the candles bathed the room in a sweet, golden glow. The feeling of safety eventually won out over her feeling of discomfort at being watched, and she struggled to keep her eyes from fluttering closed.

It was warm in the room.

It was warm and thick and ran like sap into his veins, throbbing with something that, if he were someone different, could have identified as nervousness or anxiety. It was false hope and the sweetness of grapes held just out of his reach. Like Tantalus. It was everything and too many bodies and he resigned himself to the fact that he had simply over-exerted himself. And he was bored.

Granger didn't appear to be listening to the meeting; her eyes closed again, almost synchronizing to the slight rise and fall of her chest. Her lips were slightly parted and her hair was slowly falling free of its tie. She looked so different.

Draco couldn't admit to himself that he found her particularly attractive, and certainly wouldn't even if he did. But there was something about her that he couldn't quite put his finger on, something that had changed over the course of the summer. Or maybe it was earlier. She didn't glower nearly as much when he was around her, unless he held her attention. He noticed her smiling and laughing more often than ever. Maybe it was because they were forced into such close proximity that he actually spent time around her.

And now here he was going into hiding with Hermione Granger alone.

Oddly enough, his mind came to rest on his mother. If Lucius Malfoy was ruthless, then Narcissa was desperate. She survived out of desperation for those she loved. Not many people noticed it, that silent sort of love that fell over his family like a frost. It wasn't shown with smiles.

And Narcissa had always been the source, bridging the gap between right and wrong and back again if it gave them protection. If left up to their own devices, Lucius and Draco might have slit each other's throats long ago. But now those days were over, and Draco was heading hopelessly into uncharted waters.

Sure, he had been with girls. Loads of them. But living with one was an entirely different matter, especially when she was a mudblood with a particularly strong dislike to him. He briefly remembered the stinging of his cheek after she slapped him that first time years ago. Oh, this would be lovely.

Draco supposed he probably should have tried to repair the burned bridges between them when he learned of their situation. It was easier said than done. Every moment she was either laughing with friends or studying. He decided approaching her in the former situation was social suicide, and physical in the latter; he was inclined to believe she would bite his head off. And anyway, he didn't really want to talk to her once he thought about it.

The problem was, Draco wasn't really sure what he did want to do anymore. He wanted to prove something. He just didn't know what that was yet.

The elder Weasley's voice acknowledged the auror who had just spoken, and read off the next item on the list. "...we will now discuss the matter of Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy's concealment."

Hermione's head snapped up at once. Later she would recall that although she felt alert, the experience still felt like a dream:

_...informant has described recent developments in the Dark Lord's plans..._

_They will be portkeyed to a safe house in an undisclosed location..._

_...will have stores of food and fresh water..._

_...and will they be allowed the use of magic?_

_We have set the date for a week from Friday..._

It took Hermione a moment to register. Tomorrow was Friday. She turned and saw Malfoy staring at her. Eight days was all she had. Eight days to spend with Harry and Ron and Ginny before the earth cracked open and she disappeared underground.


	5. Chapter 4

Author's Note:

Since I probably won't have the next chapter out before Deathly Hallows, I declare this officially AU. It's going to be tough continuing this story after DH, so I will do my best. Well hope I've made it up to you in this chapter; next chapter is in progress

Disclaimer: JKR owns all characters in this story. This story is not for profit.

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Chapter 4

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A muggle town. That's what they described at the meeting last night. Malfoy winced as he sat up in bed; dreamless sleep potions always gave him a headache in the morning.

According to the explanation that Weasley Senior gave, magic would only be used in case of emergency. In Draco Malfoy's opinion, living among and alongside muggles was a perfect description of "emergency."

No doubt Granger would protest. He didn't care. If she didn't want to use her wand, all the more to his own advantage.

Of course he knew the wands should be used minimally; after all, the ministry could trace the signatures of many major spells. If too many spells came from either wand, officials in the ministry could pinpoint his location.

Despite what others believed about him, Malfoy was quite capable of surviving without a wand. It was really a matter of preference. He had spent long enough on the run to know when to cast a spell and when not to. It didn't really matter so much when he was constantly moving, but now...

The good news was that potions didn't give off any sort of magical signature. The magic wasn't concentrated in the same way that a spell was, exiting the body and funneling through the wand.

So for those who needed to use magic and didn't want others to know where they were, potion making was an ideal compromise. It was the main reason Snape was so adept in the subject, and still alive.

But for now, he decided, he would freely use select hexes on whoever was arguing downstairs. He placed a palm against his forehead and fell back into bed. Ouch.

.oOo.

It all began when Harry noticed Hermione staring at her cereal bowl as if it was filled of bobotuber pus. He had observed this behavior for a few days, but after last night's meeting, it became worse.

Was it something Malfoy had said? He highly doubted that. Malfoy didn't hold the same bite as he used to; after the events of last year, Harry could hardly believe he had any bite left in him. No, it was definitely something different.

"You think I'm happy about this situation? Honestly, it's Malfoy! I know who I'm up against!"

Now Hermione held her head in her hands as Ron stood fuming beside her, fists clenched white.

"That doesn't give him any right to force you into this, 'Mione! I think I'll-"

Hermione sighed. "It wasn't his choice, Ron! You want to blame someone, blame Voldemort."

It wasn't that she was angry, Harry thought, more exhausted. If there was one thing he knew about Hermione's character, it was her penchant for worrying about things she had no control over. Probably already worried herself out, then.

Obviously Ron, who closely resembled a tomato, wasn't helping.

"Ron, she's leaving in a week. Do you really want to say goodbye this way?" This came from Ginny.

Harry chanced a slight smile at Ginny's perceptive skills, but she didn't return it.

Ron took the few strides to the fireplace and stared into it. "I'm just saying, it's not fair to any of us that she has to go! How could she possibly help the Order by hiding out with Malfoy, of all people, in the middle of nowhere?"

"It's not the middle of nowhere, Ron. We're going to be staying in a muggle town. And the idea is to not be a sitting duck for Voldemort's lackeys to pick up. Malfoy has a ton of useful information for the Order and consequently is up there with Harry on the Dark Lord's most wanted list."

Hermione hadn't known what to do, so when Harry asked what the matter was, she simply told them. In retrospect, it probably wasn't the best way to break the news, but at least it was over with. Ginny was handling it surprisingly well, but she was always the most level headed. Ron had quieted down substantially, which was a blessing.

The thing that hurt the most was Harry's questioning expression; the one that said 'You trust me with this?'

Hermione had noticed over the past days the way that aurors would motion each other off to the side whenever Harry was around, even sometimes exiting the room in order to speak privately. Security was the highest priority, and Harry's mental connection to Voldemort tagged him as a security threat. An awful lot of faith to place in the "savior of the Wizarding world," Hermione thought.

Of course she trusted Harry. Harry was first and foremost a friend, and since she and Malfoy would be under the Fidelius, he wouldn't even know their location. Not that she had ever doubted him.

"And why you, again? I don't see why Malfoy can't just fend for himself." Ron growled.

Hermione answered. "Because Voldemort is trying to lure Harry out by taking out those that are close to him. Remember the Department of Mysteries? Sorry, Harry."

Ginny nodded. "Apparently Voldemort has been reading 'Witch Weekly' and really believes that Hermione is Harry's girlfriend. It isn't too unbelieveable, you know."

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Ron beat him to it with a disgusted look.

"That is totally ridiculous! As if Harry would ever decide to..."

"Decide to what, Ron? Go with a bushy-haired know-it-all?" Hermione glared.

Harry sighed and stood from the dining table. "Come on Ron, remember, we were going to scrimmage today."

Ron scowled and followed him to the door, glancing back. "When the real Hermione returns, let me know. I'll be playing Quidditch in the meantime."

"Don't listen to him, Hermione," Ginny said as she watched the boys' retreating backs.

"Am I really so repulsive?" She picked up her spoon and let it fall again into the empty bowl with a clink.

"Of course not. It's just because he fancies you. He doesn't know what else to say."

Hermione groaned and laid her head on her arms. "Boys are scum."

"Tell me about it."

.oOo.

"He's really not that bad looking," Ginny murmured. Her arms rested on the windowsill as she and Hermione gazed out of the leaded glass window at the impromptu Quidditch match taking place above.

"No, Harry is very attractive. Nice eyes, too." Hermione said.

"I was talking about Malfoy." She smiled.

Hermione turned and gave her an incredulous look. "You're not serious."

"Sure I am," Ginny grinned wider. "he's stunning. Beautiful hair, nice body, perfect teeth. He could be the next Lockhart if he smiles, I bet."

"Wait until I tell all this to Harry."

"What? It's true! And you won't tell Harry. Besides, I like guys with character better. Integrity is very sexy, you know."

Hermione snorted. Bodies flitted back and forth against the morning sun. She caught sight of Malfoy's silk hair as he performed a dramatic spin and sped toward an invisible point in the sky. The move gave her motion sickness just watching it.

"I'm surprised that he's playing with Harry and Ron, actually. They're not exactly on the best of terms."

"You don't have to be friends to play Quidditch, Hermione. It's better now since they can take out all of their frustration on each other."

"That's exactly why I don't fly."

"You should at least try it. It's loads of fun and I bet it could help you out of an emergency."

"Oh, like what?" Hermione asked.

"Like if Malfoy is driving you crazy you can just hop a broom and fly back to Godric's Hollow." Ginny replied.

Hermione's smile faltered. "It's going to be lonely without you around, Ginny."

Ginny smiled warmly. "The worst part is over already. At least now we know what we're looking for, the horcruxes."

"That's true," Hermione agreed, "I just wish I knew what I'm supposed to be looking for."

One shiny, platinum head stood out among the hurtling black robes of the other players.

"Maybe it's right in front of you." Ginny laughed.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're kidding."

.oOo.

The hours whirled like dust motes on the edges of Draco Malfoy's conscious vision in a pattern of exhaustingly slow passage, occasionally stirred by the movement of a hand. How he hated that hand that sent everything he knew and remembered spiraling out of focus.

It had become an instinct now to mark time in the turning of the sun in the sky, and for the first time that afternoon the waning summer light became real, tangible. It was the period of late summer approaching that cast the yard in a thick, golden slowness and warmth.

His skin was sticky with sweat and exertion, the black cloth of his shirt clinging to it and absorbing all of the heat like a sponge.

Of course Potter had caught the snitch. That was three in a row, and if Malfoy believed in any sort of deity, he might just have been inclined to believe it favored green eyes and glasses. As it was, Malfoy was convinced that his own performance was impaired by the sight of two very distracting women below who kept giggling about something and occasionally pointing in his direction.

Did he have something stuck in his teeth?

He landed and passed the group of auror Quidditch players to join the female Weasley and Granger.

"What is so amusing?" He demanded.

"We were just placing bets on how you will handle living without your hair product." Ginny laughed.

Malfoy scowled. "Well I am glad that at least one of us is able to joke about an act only spurred by threats to our lives."

Hermione frowned. "Oh come off it, Malfoy. I already told Ginny you probably have a huge supply in your robes."

"Which I will obviously have to allow you to borrow," Malfoy reached out to touch the hair that hung past Hermione's shoulder. As he felt the softness of her curls, he could have sworn he felt a small shudder... either it was miniscule or imagined. Or maybe it came from him.

Since when was Hermione Granger soft? Everything about her was harsh and oppressive. The way her eyes seemed to be able to carve stone at times, her stinging tongue, her large teeth (though he recalled that had been cured long ago, and only because of him). This was new and it frightened him.

He glanced at her hand. It looked soft as well, with a pinch of freckles dotting the smooth expanse of skin. He felt sick.

"I won't," he could hear her saying, "I don't have anyone to impress but you."

"That should be reason enough." He smirked.

"Ha, ha." Hermione responded.

As Draco Malfoy lay in bed that night, he considered the experience and decided he was clinically insane.

.oOo.

A few days later, Hermione could still feel the tension between her and the boys, most noticeably from Ron. Harry had become much quieter, but Ron actively avoided her. So it was that she joined Ginny and Mrs. Weasley in the late August sun.

It felt strange to be in the kitchen, listening to the hollow, metallic clang of pots crest and echo like waves. But stranger was the laughter that the women who occupied it shared. In spite of everything that had happened... everything that they knew would happen... the Order was still going to have a party for "the harvest."

So here she was slitting rosehips neatly in two and chatting with her friends, her magical family. A small bowl of blood-red hawthorn berries sat on the counter, waiting to be made into a tart, and a six-gallon metal pot sat scrubbing itself in the sink.

"You've never made wine the magical way, have you, Hermione?"

She shook her head. "It didn't ever occur to me."

Mrs. Weasley smiled. "Well, I've tried a few muggle wines, and they are somewhat comparable, but they take forever to ferment. This way, we'll have it ready in a few hours."

Well, if Hermione wanted to be completely honest with herself, it was mainly the women who pressed the importance of having a party; it never would have occurred to someone like Mad-Eye Moody. She knew behind the pretense, it was a going-away party. It was painful and wonderful to think about.

Currently Tonks and Lupin were outside enchanting the yard with tiny fairy lights and transfiguring tables and chairs. Ron, she assumed, was skulking somewhere with a quidditch book, and she didn't know about Harry. It felt odd, she decided, that she had grown accustomed to keeping tabs on people, and in a few days, she would only have Malfoy to interact with. It didn't mean she wouldn't worry about the others, but what use was there in worrying over Malfoy?

Mounds and mounds of halved rosehips fell into the aluminum pot and it was filled with water. Once the lid was on, Mrs. Weasley cast a quick charm.

"So now what?" Hermione asked.

"Now we wait ten minutes."

Hermione inhaled, then allowed her mind to enter the same, hazy, trancelike state it had occupied for most of the summer. The air was warm and humid but didn't hang still like before the storms earlier in the month; instead, it moved about freely in and out of the open window. She knew what it meant. The frosts were approaching. The harvest was officially underway.

It occurred to Hermione then, and later she would vehemently deny the very idea that she might have had a premonition, that something very terrible could happen during the winter if she had no food. She decided to bring along as much as she could carry.

.oOo.

That evening, even Hermione couldn't identify the traces of fear and nervousness that had coursed through her earlier in the afternoon. Everything was so plentiful outside on Harry's back lawn; a long table about half the size of the staff table in Hogwarts, had been loaded so full of food that there was hardly room for Hermione's plate.

She sat between Tonks and Ginny, with Arthur Weasley at one end, and Moody at the other. Only as Arthur Weasley raised his glass to propose a toast to the event did Hermione notice the glass expertly raised across from her.

She looked up and accidentally caught Malfoy's silver eyes. Their glasses clinked and she instinctively smiled. Hermione wondered later why it gave her stomach such a turn to smile at him.

"So, Granger, how are you planning to spend your last minutes of freedom?" He drawled.

Hermione stiffened, then took a long sip of wine.

Soon the table had been cleared away and the transfigured chairs sat in small clusters around the perimeter of the open lawn. Faint music flowed with the breeze from somewhere inside the house and fairy lights danced in the hedges. She was feeling good, she decided; the weather was warm, people seemed happy, and Malfoy wasn't anywhere to be found.

She sat with Harry and a rather red-faced Ron, whom she had made up with earlier in the evening. Tonks and Lupin were dancing on the far side of the lawn, and a few aurors began to stand and follow their example. Unfortunately alcohol did not allow Ron to speak any more eloquently than normal, and he seemed to be having a particularly hard time expressing himself at the moment.

"Well, what I meant to say was that things won't be as er... intelligent... as normal without you around, 'Mione, and I just thought that, you know, we ought to at least get some studying in before you leave, you know, so we can be more er... you know what I mean..."

She sighed, looking past Ron's shoulder to other clusters of people chatting and laughing. Somewhere in the part of her she identified as her conscience, she knew she should be treasuring these moments she was spending with her friends, but things had changed so much since first year. It wasn't just friendship anymore, and they all knew it. Everyone expected her to be with Ron; even parts of her expected her to be with Ron, but...

"...well you know, dance with me?" Ron and Harry were both looking at her expectantly.

Hermione forced a smile. "Sure, Ron, I'd love to."

Ron grasped her hand and led her to the other couples dancing. She fought down another sigh; she knew he was nervous, and really _really_ wished that it could have been because of anyone besides her at the moment, but smiled again as he placed a hand on her waist.

The dance felt awkward to her, she thought, though it wasn't because Ron couldn't dance; his brothers had given him dance instruction after the fiasco that was the Yule Ball. It just didn't feel natural; the proportions were all off. Ron was too tall and lanky now; Hermione had stopped noticeably growing around her fifth year, around the same time that the boys had really begun to shoot up in height.

She had experienced the same thing with Viktor Krum in fourth year; it was awkward to dance with him, and she could only imagine what would have happened if she had actually started a relationship with him. Her expectations, she realized, were different now. It was the reason Krum kept pushing a relationship when she wasn't ready for it. He was at a place then that she had only recently begun to discover, that place where she felt the need to fit into someone else's arms and know it was right, and all the other things that meant. Suffice to say, Ron wasn't right.

In a movie, Hermione mused, the perfect gentleman would notice a woman when she was not enjoying her dance with a particularly clingy partner, and cut in to rescue her. He would take her mind off of the embarrassment by engaging in light conversation, and invite her to walk with him out onto the moonlit veranda. So she half-expected someone, anyone, to cut into the dance, but the moment the song ended, she excused herself and pulled away.

Hermione entered the living room with a fresh glass of wine to find Malfoy sitting in what she had silently claimed her favorite chair, reading.

"Yes, Granger?" He asked, without looking up.

She cleared her throat and took the seat across from him. "So this is how you spend your last minutes of freedom?"

He set down his book. "I've attended too many parties for them to any longer interest me."

Hermione frowned slightly. "So why did you come to dinner, then?"

Malfoy shrugged. "I was hungry."

Hermione allowed herself to stare for a second. Every moment in every day it seemed that Malfoy exuded the pretense of his family, that of elegant ruthlessness. How could he be anything but? But today he seemed exhausted, as though something were weighing heavily on his mind. She had seen the look before, last spring. For a split second, she felt worry.

"I don't really care for parties either." She sighed.

"Don't lie to me, Granger," he said, "they delight you. You're just tired of your friends always throwing their emotional baggage onto you. That's why you're in here talking to me."

Hermione began to retort.

"That's part of the reason you agreed to this, isn't it? You've changed and they haven't. You know if you have to endure this any longer, you'll break. So you chose the lesser of two evils and decided to go into hiding with me."

Hermione frowned. "Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy. I chose to do this because there is something larger than my relationship with my friends."

She stood and made her way to the stairs, only barely hearing Malfoy as he replied, "Well at least you have your priorities straight."


End file.
